Mermaids
by Issay
Summary: Vane reflects on women and death they bring. Part two of the Character Study Series.


"Come, behold what treasures lie  
Deep below the rolling waves,  
Riches hid from human eye  
Dimly shine in ocean's caves;  
Stormy winds are far away,  
Ebbing tides brook no delay;  
Follow, follow, follow me."

When he was a little boy serving as a captain's steward (that included keeping his sheets clean, tea warm and clothes neatly folded in a chest made from chestnut wood - nothing too hard, really, even when you are a six year old boy) he heard from one of the sailors a story. Not a story, rather a myth - about beautiful women with long hair, tempting men with their looks and beautiful voices to join them in depths of the ocean. Mermaids, they said, the worst kind of monster you can meet out there. With the exception of the kraken, of course. If you believe in those things.  
Charles always believed.

So when he saw her for the first time sprawled across his bed, naked and with her hair loose, he thought of mermaids. She called to him that day, said his name and gestured for him to come to her and he obeyed. They were never partners or even lovers - she was the queen of seas and he was her subject, made with only one purpose: to serve her in whatever she needed. No, Charles Vane was never her lover. He was always only a man who was kneeling next to the altar of one Eleanor Guthrie.  
Mermaid, he thought that first, fatal night. Mermaid with her soft skin, slightly flushed and wet with his kisses, mermaid with her long hair and eyes colored like the sea itself. Rich blue in sunlight, dark gray in storm, deep black in the middle of the night. He could drown in her eyes. He could drown in the sight of her, goddess in the candlelight, his to worship. And he was like a man on the verge of dying when she finally let him put his lips upon her own.

Charles may be the most powerful man in Nassau and one of the best damn captains the Bahamas ever saw. He may be reckless son of a whore, drawing pleasure from killing others and taking their gold. He may be the son of the ocean. But when it comes to Eleanor, he is reduced to a role of the worshiper, faithful but not alone in his love. He wants to strangle Flint with his bare hands only for the smile the captain of Walrus gets from the blue eyed goddess of Nassau. There are those who crowd her tavern only to steal one look at her and there are other captains, even the old ones, whom she favors and listens to. She may not know about this but she has almost her own cult there and Charles sometimes feels embarrassed because he would gladly be her high priest.

She will be his doom. He knows Jack and Anne Bonny disdain him a little for this weakness for her, they do not understand and he does not expect them to. They have each other in non-exclusive way he does not even try to wrap his head around. But they at least accept Charles' love for Eleanor Guthrie as one of those constant things in the world like flows of the ocean and wetness of water. But he knows that she will be the end of him. He realizes it when sitting in her rooms and listening to what Flint has to say about the treasures and he really is considering making a deal with this man. And again that day, when she enters his tent and once again takes what she wants, takes what is hers to take because even if he fucks other women, he loves only her. Eleanor knows it. It is in the way he buries his head in the valley between her breasts and breathes deeply. In those desperate, hurried thrusts, in the fact that there is no foreplay - he is hard every time he sees her and this time is no different. And later, when they are done and when he takes her hand and does not want to let go, ever. She is a mermaid, he thinks, even if she has no idea of her charms. Later that night she ruins him with only words - but it does not matter, there will be another ship and another crew. You cannot keep the son of the ocean away from it. But what really hurts him and what makes him drown in the bottle for long days is the hate he sees in her eyes. The unforgiving gray of stormy, deadly seas.

Seas he would gladly drown in.

* * *

Opening quote is from the beautiful poem "A Mermaid's Song" by Scottish poet Anne Hunter.


End file.
